


5.VII.

by catmanu



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Bathroom Sex, Best Friends, Croatian National Football Team, Deepthroating, Finally...top!Dejan, Fluffy Ending, Idiots in Love, M/M, More Sejan in 2020, Overstimulation, Pain Kink, Possessive Behavior, Rimming, Semi-Public Sex, Spit As Lube, Tattoos, Weird Consent Situations, necessary Rock Filius mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:00:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23365102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catmanu/pseuds/catmanu
Summary: While on vacation in Italy, Dejan learns something new about Šime.
Relationships: Dejan Lovren/Šime Vrsaljko
Comments: 15
Kudos: 36





	5.VII.

Dejan curls so tightly around Šime after he’s pulled out that it feels like they’re still fucking. He rubs his nose against the drying sweat on his neck and thinks; he’s exhausted himself and Šime, but somehow he’s still alert, _awake._

Šime groans every time he shifts. Dejan smiles. He did not go easy on the man he loves this time. Well, he’s strong and motivated and all of those other admirable qualities, and humbler about it than Dejan is. He’ll recover. 

“How can I distract you from the pain, ljubavi?”

Šime shifts again and pulls Dejan’s arm across his waist and down so he can hold his hand. He begins stroking Dejan’s fingers with his sweaty fingertips. “I don’t need any distracting. Don’t worry.”

Dejan laughs, closing his eyes for a moment and enjoying the soft feeling of Šime’s curls on his face. He runs the arch of his foot up and down Šime’s leg, feeling the strength of the lean muscle there. It’s not all jokes with them, that’s the thing. Sometimes it’s lightness, it’s peace. Their fans might not expect this, but well, this time’s not for them.

“How quickly one forgets. Šime the brave, Šime the strong. Likes when it hurts.”

“I feel like you’re making fun of me, brate,” Šime says.

“No, never.” Dejan kisses his neck. “Me, make fun of _you?_ I make fun… _with_ you.” He continues kissing Šime’s neck. Šime elbows him in the ribs.

“That was terrible, Deki.”

“I am very terrible, yes.” Dejan runs his tongue over each of the bright red hearts inked on Šime’s arm. The skin is softest there, and he thinks. Now’s the time to bring up something that has been on his mind. “But let me entertain you anyway, okay? I have a story.”

“Go for it.”

“So a few weeks ago…” Dejan starts. “I was getting rubbed down after training, and I was fucking _bored_ because I didn’t have my Šime to fuck around with.”

“You didn’t tell me it was going to be a _sad_ story, brate,” Šime says. “Pass me a tissue.”

“Uh, it’s kind of too late for a tissue,” Dejan laughs. He is the one who’s wound up lying right in the big wet spot Šime had left on the sheets, after all. “But anyway. I was bored and wound up reading an article on one of those bullshit websites. Vice, or something.”

“Okay, about what?”

“Well, it was about people who have a lot of tattoos. Kind of like of you.”

Šime laughs, snuggling further into him. “You also have a lot of tattoos, Dejan.”

“What, so you want me to be selfish and think only of myself?”

“Okay, ANYWAY…”

“ANYWAY, it was saying that for some people…It is not just about the look, or…or some kind of tough guy thing, proving they can handle the pain. It’s…”

“…Yes?” Šime’s voice is significantly quieter than before, and Dejan’s heart speeds up. He knows Šime can feel it against his back. Ever since reading the stupid article, he’s been wondering, he’s been guessing…and if he’s right…

“It’s like…some kind of sexual thing. The pain, the way the gun sounds, the—” Šime goes tense in his arms for a moment. “Oh, you’re one of these people, aren’t you? You _are_. Shit, brate. I can’t believe I never knew…”

“I mean…” Šime’s voice is a little hoarse. “I also love the look, the experience, the, um…the all of it. You know.”

“Well, no, I didn’t.” Now Dejan places a kiss on each of the bright red hearts. His heart is pounding so hard…if Liverpool’s medical staff found out Klopp would probably think there was something wrong with him and break his contract on the spot. “I never knew…”

He drapes his leg over Šime’s legs and feels him shiver a little. “It didn’t really come up, did it?”

“Well, maybe it should have on one of our lives, no? _Deki, ljubavi, guess what happened today, I jizzed in my pants at the tattoo studio today, I liiiiiked it—”_

“Fuck youuuuu, Deki, I’ve never done _that._ ”

Dejan is cracking up. Šime elbows him again, harder, adding, “But I can tell _you_ like the idea.”

“I bet you’ve come close.” Dejan presses his lips to Šime’s ear and whispers even though there’s no one to overhear. “ _Šiiiiiiiiiiiime._ ” He licks into the curve at the top of his ear and Šime twitches in his arms and claws at him. “Scratch me up all you want, brate. But you’ve come close, haven’t you?”

Šime turns his head around, leaving Dejan’s mouth with nothing much to do. “I have,” he admits. “It’s fucking _awkward.”_ But his eyes don’t show shame or anything close to that. They’re so wide Dejan thinks he could roll over and fall right into them. It’s like he’s begging Dejan to do…something. 

Dejan’s cock has gone from soft and satisfied to painfully throbbing in an impressively record-breaking amount of time. No one else’s erection has ever sprung to life so quickly, he’s sure of that. He’s so aroused he can barely think of anything to say. “Šime…” he finally manages. “Fuck, you’re so _hot._.”

“Seen yourself lately, Deki? I could say the same thing about you.”

“Mmm-hmm, I check myself out in the mirror whenever I can.”

“I know you do.”

“I—” Dejan rubs the head of his cock against Šime’s back and enjoys the completely uncontrolled moan that comes out of his mouth. He loves when this happens, when he’s ready to go again so quickly. He winds up extra-sensitive to every sensation. It is an amazing feeling.

“You’re so hard, Deki, _fuck_.”

Dejan dips a hand underneath the blanket and parts Šime’s perfect ass cheeks. He slides a finger between them.

“Shhh. Be quiet, I am very busy here,” he says. He likes what he finds. Between the actual lube they’d used earlier and Dejan’s come, Šime is still perfectly lubed-up and perfectly ready for him, so he rolls Šime all the way onto his side, lifts his leg up, and pushes fully into him in one easy thrust. He can do this without asking. Šime is his, entirely his, even though nobody knows this but the two of them.

Loose as Šime still is, he clenches so tightly around Dejan’s cock that Dejan can hardly stand it. 

“Šime…” he moans. “You are so ready for my cock, yes? You’re always so ready for me, so perfect…”

“ _Deki,”_ Šime moans along with him. He’s mostly soft still, his cock flopping comically on his balls as Dejan begins thrusting, but he still wants Dejan inside of him. It’s about something more than just his pleasure. That’s how it is between them.

Dejan lifts Šime’s arm up so he can plant a million kisses on those soft red hearts. Šime’s gasping out that he wants it _hard,_ give it to him _hard._ His hand finds Šime’s cock; it obeys him almost instantly, stiffening and pulsing in his fist. He tells Šime he loves him, over and over, his sloppy tongue leaving a wet streak on Šime’s skin as he pounds into him without any rhythm at all. Šime groans it back. Dejan thinks he loves him even more now that he knows this secret that Šime wears all over his body—for all to see, yet never realize. It’s so twisted. It’s so bold. It’s so…well, it’s so _him._

He comes sooner than he’d like, shuddering helplessly against Šime and moaning complete nonsense in his ear, and so he picks up the pace and jerks Šime without any mercy, sharp and fast, until he yelps and kicks and Dejan’s hand grows warm and sticky.

Dejan wipes it off on the sheets. 

Strong, world-class footballer that he is, he just barely has the strength to reach and turn off the lamp. He and Šime always keep the lights on until they’re ready to pass out. They like to look at each other. 

“G’night, ljubavi,” Šime mumbles.

“Mmmm, goodnight. Love you,” Dejan whispers back. There’s something he feels he wants to think about, but it’ll have to wait.

*

It’s only his first morning waking up with Šime on this best-friends-trip to Italy, but already Dejan feels as though he’s grown wings in his sleep. He imagines them, as he always does, big and beautiful and red and white. He wishes he could feel this more often, but how lucky is he that he can feel it at all? How lucky is it that he, Dejan Lovren, has such a miracle in his life?

He’s certain about one thing: contrary to what some people think about two men being together like this, God has chosen to bless him.

Sometimes when he and Šime are together Dejan sets his alarm a little earlier than is necessary just so he can lie there and enjoy what’s his. There are probably corpses out there who sleep lighter than Šime does, so Dejan doesn’t have to worry about waking him up by accident. He smiles and opens his eyes and takes in the treasure next to him. Today he’s sleeping mostly on his stomach, with a leg slipped through Dejan’s legs and his head buried in Dejan’s armpit. Dejan laughs. _Little weirdo_ , he thinks, and rests his head on Šime’s hair.

His mind is not entirely at peace, though. He’d felt like this just before falling asleep last night, too. There’s something bubbling in his mind somewhere, something forming in his subconscious. It has something to do with the whole tattoo thing from last night, he knows that much. 

Dejan thinks about tattoos. He has many of his own, of course. Each has its own importance and its own meaning. Šime’s must as well, though he only knows about some of them. They’re well-designed; they’re works of art on a work of art. His whole back is like…one of those medieval tapestries, but better, but alive. 

He thinks. 

_A ring is temporary._

_A tattoo is much less._

_A ring is not subtle._

_And it is not permanent._

Next to him, Šime stirs. “Deki…Dekidekideki…” he mumbles, his voice weak from sleep.

“Šimeeeeeeeee…what is it?”

He feels a familiar morning hard-on pressing against his thigh. He has one too, of course. It is important to have things in common with your best friend. “You smell good.”

“Yes, I put on deodorant in the middle of the night because you were sleeping in my armpit.”

“…Did you really?”

Dejan laughs. “Come here.”

He pulls Šime up so they can share some deep, sleepy kisses, the kind that always lead to their hands reaching out and—

“Uh-uh, not now,” Dejan says. It takes a lot to swat Šime’s hand away from his cock, but he’s strong. He can do it.

“…Wanna.”

“Nope.”

“Do me, then.”

“Nope.” Dejan shoves him onto his back and pins his arms to the mattress. Šime might not be laughing with his mouth, but he is laughing with his eyes. “We’re on vacation, brate. We have places to see. Things to do.”

Like looking up Trieste’s finest tattoo studios, for example.

They take their handjobs to the shower, for efficiency’s sake, and afterward when Dejan turns Šime to face away from him so he can soap up his back, his eyes wander down to a spot over Šime’s ribs, there on his right side.

Tattoos hurt like a bitch in that area. No wonder Šime has his whole back covered, Dejan thinks. “Kinky freak, brate,” he mumbles.

“What was that?”

“Kinky freak, brate.”

“Are you still thinking about the tattoo thing?”

“Šime, I will be thinking about that for the rest of my fucking life.” He runs his finger over a small, pale bit of unmarked pale skin there and feels the solidness of bone underneath. 

Yes. This will be the spot.

“Mmmm, I kind of like that.”

“Good.” Šime moves behind him to wash his hair for him—the one thing Šime does for Dejan that he won’t let Dejan do for him. Šime’s hair, Šime’s rules. 

“Hurry up, ljubavi,” Dejan says. “I’ve thought of a surprise for you but I’m going to have to go off alone to set it up. I want to have time to get it done.”

“Mmmm, are you proposing to me?”

He thinks. _Proposing_. A ring is temporary. A tattoo is much less. A ring is not subtle. And it is not permanent. 

“Don’t worry, brate,” he says. “It’s something much better than a proposal.”

*

The list of miracles in his life seems endless. Trieste’s best-rated tattoo studio can fit him in for a consultation that very day. It’s a slow time of year, the man at the shop had explained in questionable English on the phone. The locals are on vacation, and the tourists don’t come to Trieste to get tattoos. Fair enough. Dejan gets and more and more excited with each step down the street. He loves everything he’s done with and to and for Šime, but designing a tattoo for him is already his favorite, and it hasn’t even happened yet.

The artist he’ll be working with _might_ recognize Šime from his years playing in Italy— _might_ —but doesn’t recognize him. 

“It’s for my best friend,” he explains. “A best friends tattoo, you know? I would like it to be my birthday. Just the day and the month. Number five, Roman numeral seven.”

The artist—a guy named Maurizio who seems pretty intrigued by the whole situation—shows Dejan a few different fonts he can use.

“It’ll have to be small, but not too small,” Dejan adds. “It’s going on his back. He’s already got a lot of tattoos there.”

“And are you getting one of his birthday?”

Dejan doesn’t mind the idea, but.

“No,” he says.“Maybe someday, but probably not.He will surprise me in a different way.”

*

Dejan is full of impatience the next morning and he takes it out on Šime, sitting on the bathroom sink and tickling him while he’s trying to dry his hair after their morning shower.Šime retaliates by blasting him fully in the face with the hair dryer every time he does.Dejan thinks Šime will win this fight.The dryer is very hot.

“Hey, could you do me a favor, ljubavi?” Šime says sweetly.

“Of course, brate.What is it?”

“Fuck off and do something else.”

“Thanks, I love you too, Šime,” Dejan grumbles, sliding off the sink.“No one appreciates me around here, I can see that now.”

He picks out Šime’s clothes for the day to keep himself busy—navy blue underwear, a soft, old white t-shirt, and a new pair of black joggers that make him look kind of _cute,_ though he’d never tell Šime that.This is something they just…do when they’re together.Dejan picks out what Šime will wear.Šime’s never once asked him to, Dejan’s never once told him he was going to, and they’ve never actually discussed it, but when Šime walks out of the bathroom, he automatically looks to see if Dejan’s gotten clothes ready for him. 

“All ready to go?” he asks Šime about once every other second.

"With my whole ass out?" Šime hasn't even pulled his pants on yet. "I know you're a freak and all, I'm not going to judge, but I'd rather wear clothes outside."

"I'm a freak? Okay, but I'm not the one who gets off on needles blasting ink into their skin, brate." And speaking of..."Could you hurry up?"

"What are you in such a rush for?" Šime asks as he pulls his shirt over his head. The material is so soft and so old that Dejan can still see the outline of Šime's tattoos through it. 

"We should get going."

“Where?”

“You are going to buy me gelato.” They've finally made it into the hallway. Dejan brushes Šime's freshly-dried curls off his forehead and kisses him there.

“I am?”

“Yes.”

“Why am _I_ paying? I don’t want gelato.” Šime pouts for him and sticks his tongue out. Dejan sticks his out right back, and then, considering there is no one else in the hallway but them, he licks the little pink tip that’s sticking out of Šime’s mouth. 

“Mmmm, _ajjjj lajjjjjjk_ ,” he cackles, and he and Šime crack up even though there’s no one watching.

“A _jjjj lajjjjjjk_ _,_ ” Šime says right back.“But I still don’t want gelato.”

"You'll live, Šime. I promise."

And they stumble down the street together, laughing at everything and nothing. Dejan can't even explain half of the things he and Šime laugh about. He knows their fans like to guess, but it's not as simple as that. Sometimes they just look at each other and that's all they need.

The tattoo studio is close to their hotel; it doesn't take them that long to get there. This is convenient, because Dejan feels like he's going to explode. He grabs Šime's arm as soon as they get to the shop and pulls him to a stop. "We're here."

“Wait, _where_ are we going?”

“Gelato.”

“It says _tattoos_ on the sign, Deki.” Šime raises his eyebrows. Dejan smirks and something inside him makes him want to keep laughing, so he does. He whispers in Šime’s ear.

“I know, ljubavi. We're going here instead.”

“Hmmm,” Šime says as Dejan pulls open the heavy door. “Impulse tattoos doesn’t really seem like something you would do.”

“Oh, it’s not something I'd do.”

“So then, no offense, but what the fuck are we doing here?”

“No offense taken, brate.” The door slams shut behind them. Maurizio is waiting for them.

"Is this him?"

“This is him!” Dejan declares. “The best friend.”

"I've heard a lot about you," Maurizio says to Šime. He laughs. “Are you ready?”

Šime is a smart guy; Dejan doesn’t think he’s ever seen him look as lost as he does now. “Why is he asking me if I’m ready?” He says something to Maurizio in Italian. When Maurizio responds, Šime's mouth drops open and he looks so genuinely surprised that it sends a tingling feeling through Dejan. It comes to rest in between his legs. Fuck, he’s going to be the one who winds up coming in his pants today. He shouldn’t have made fun of Šime for it. Karma is real.

“He says I’m getting a tattoo?”

“Yes.”

"But I— _what?"_

“I designed it for you, yesterday. That's where I went. Maurizio...can we show him the design, please?”

"Yes, of course."

Šime chews on his lower lip as he looks at it. Dejan had decided on a nice, classy cursive; Šime's back is too artistic for anything bolder. "Five sev—Your birthday? I'm about to get your birthday tattooed on me?"

Their pal Maurizio must be curious about what they're saying. “Yes. And you’ll be getting it in a place that’ll hurt a _lot…_ right, brate? You get what I mean?”

“Fuck.”

"Is that a good _fuck_ or a bad _fuck?"_

"Well, it's not a bad _fuck._ I, ummmm..." Dejan watches him think. "I...gotta pee. I'll be right back."

"Is your best friend alright?" Maurizio asks as Šime wanders toward the bathroom. "If you really need to come back again, we can find another time."

"Oh, no, he'll be fine," Dejan assures him. "He's a very emotional person. My surprise means a lot to him, I am sure."

They take care of the payment while Šime is gone. He returns a couple minutes later. His cheeks are flushed in a way they usually aren't. Dejan licks his lips at the sight.

"Well, okay," Šime mumbles. "Guess we're doing this..."

As they go through all the necessary first steps, it's very clear that Šime has done this many times—many more than Dejan has. He pulls his shirt off and gives it to Dejan to hold and settles easily into the chair. Maurizio comments multiple times on how lovely all the work on Šime's back and sides and chest and arms is. 

"Yes, yes. He is a work of art, isn't he?" Dejan interrupts. He's being too obvious, but so what? They'll never be back here again.

"Thanks, Deki."

"Your friend has decided we should put your tattoo here." Maurizio touches the spot on Šime's back. "Is that alright with you?"

Dejan wants to say _It's fine_ but that might be too much, even in front of this guy they'll never see again. Luckily, his Šime is his Šime, and he says "Yeah...that's totally cool," with a little breathlessness in his voice. Dejan positions Šime's shirt strategically in his lap.

Dejan sits and watches Šime's hands. At the first contact of the needle with his skin, his long fingers twitch and curl in the air. Dejan's cock twitches along with them because now he has _context_ for all this. The tattoo Šime is getting is small, so none of this will take long, but Dejan knows that won't make it any less arousing. For either of them, apparently. Maurizio is chatting with Šime in Italian. Normally Dejan would not want to feel left out, but the two of them being occupied leaves him free to experience all of this: Šime calm and casual in the chair, chatting away over the buzz of the tattoo gun, but his fingers still wiggling in the air, grabbing at nothing. Dejan wants to hold his hand. Or kiss his lips through the whole process. Or slip his hand between Šime and the chair for him to grind on. Dejan imagines it, Šime's cock hard against his hand, wet at the tip when Dejan pinches it through his clothes. He peers over and watches his birthday appear over Šime's ribs in shining black ink.

When it's over and Maurizio goes to get a bandage, Dejan whispers, "So how hard are you, brate? Scale of one to ten."

Šime looks at him sideways. "You'll see when I get up. Hopefully _he_ won't."

"Croatian, right?" Maurizio asks as he cleans up Šime's skin and gently places the bandage over Dejan's birthday. They both nod. "This is a little funny to me. You two come from so close to here, and you spend your vacation getting tattoos?"

"Best friendship cannot wait," Dejan explains.

Šime had been chatty while getting the tattoo done, but now that it's over he seems to have forgotten how to talk. Maybe it's because all the blood from his brain has gone somewhere else. Dejan is impressed by what's going on in his pants, awkward as it may be. He wonders if Šime always reacts quite this strongly to getting tattooed or if it's because it has something to do with him. He assumes it's the latter. He likes that.

"...d'you already pay?" Šime says. "You did, right? Deki—you shouldn't have done th—" 

"Shut up, brate," Dejan says. "I design it, I give it to you, I pay for it. Thank you very much," he continues, giving Maurizio a handshake. "If we are ever back in Trieste, we'll be returning to you, maybe."

"Enjoy it in good health," Maurizio says to Šime, who mumbles something and nods his head in response. Now Dejan is in a rush to get them both out of there. Fuck being tourists—they need to get back to the hotel before he and Šime both explode.

But they’re only a few steps down the sidewalk past the tattoo studio when Dejan takes a closer look at Šime and knows they’re not going to make it back. His mouth hangs open, his dark eyes darker than usual, pupils blown out. He’s quieter than Dejan has ever seen him when they’re together. This all is slightly new to Dejan, and it’s having an effect on him. He probably looks just like Šime does. He wonders if he should walk slightly in front of Šime, as a courtesy, to protect the bulge in his black joggers from curious eyes.

They stop on the corner. “You want to be fucked right now, don’t you?” Dejan asks. He raises his eyebrows at a man next to them, daring him to understand Croatian. “Wait, wait, hold on. I said that all wrong.” Dejan wants to rip Šime’s white shirt right off, get his pants down around his knees, tell everyone on the street to go away, and just devour him whole. “You need me to fuck you right now. You can’t wait.”

“I mean…if you could make it happen…”

“Hmmm. My Šime can’t wait.” Dejan spots a bar farther down the street. “I bet they have a bathroom. Let’s go.”

Šime just stares at him. He seems stuck. Dejan is fascinated by this; so is his cock. “You really need it that badly, ljubavi?” he whispers. He wraps his hand around the colorful butterfly on Šime’s left arm and nudges him forward, guiding him down the sidewalk. “I love you. I _have_ you. We’re doing this.”

The bar’s doorway is surprisingly low and Dejan almost bumps his head as they stumble through the door. His vision of not attracting too much attention didn’t work out, but there are only three people in the place, and they all look equally disinterested in the two tattooed tourists who’ve just appeared. 

“Buongiorno,” the bartender says. He looks up for a moment, and then goes back to wiping down the bar top.

“Uhhh...dov’è il bagno? Per favore?” Šime chokes out. Dejan always likes hearing Šime speak Italian, but he’s even more grateful than usual for all his years playing in Serie A. His knowledge of Italian isn’t just _fucking hot_ today—it’s necessary.

The bartender still barely looks at them. _“_ A sinistra,” he says, pointing at a doorway ahead of them.

“To the left,” Šime says. “Uh, I guess through that door? I— _Dekiiii_ ,” he hisses. Dejan is still squeezing his arm, steering him in that direction, but now he’s put his other hand on Šime’s back as he guides him, cupping the skin just around where his birthday is now inked in forever. “Be careful, it’ll hurt if you touch it too hard.”

“Oh, it will? Interesting.”

“ _God_ , I shouldn’t have told you—I have so many regrets right now,” Šime complains.As far as complaints go, it’s a weak one.The tent in his pants hasn’t gotten any smaller.Dejan helpfully points this out, but by then they’ve found the bathroom.

 ****The bathroom has two stalls and luckily both are empty.Dejan steers Šime into the one closest to the door.It’s maybe not the most romantic place in the world.The black-and-white tiles on the floor look more grey than anything else, and the walls are covered in graffiti and peeling paint.It’s perfect.He leans against the door and pulls Šime against him and kisses him the way he wanted to do in the tattoo studio, plus more.Šime helpfully shoves his thigh between Dejan’s legs for Dejan to grind on, which he does, shameless and wanting.He traces his fingers over Šime’s earrings like they’re living, breathing things that can feel pleasure.It makes _him_ feel good to do, to touch things that are Šime’s and make them _his_ , too.Just thinking that makes his cock press painfully against his tight jeans.He kisses Šime’s ear so he can whisper into it and make him shiver. 

“Get my dick wet for you, yes, ljubavi?I didn’t bring lube so do the best you can.”

He kisses those lips again, his favorite lips, their tongues brushing together as they moan in little soft bursts against each other’s mouths. He taps Šime on the shoulders. Šime knows what that means: it’s the sign that he should get down on his knees on the grimy tile floor. Dejan sits down on top of the toilet.Šime undoes Dejan’s jeans and nudges them and his black Rock Filius boxer briefs down around his ankles. Dejan’s cock springs free, almost all ready to go. Šime waits.

“Since when do you wait for my permission to put my cock in your mouth?” Dejan laughs. 

“Sorry... ‘m a little distracted by...everything,” Šime mumbles. He almost sounds winded. They haven’t even _done_ anything. 

Dejan wraps his fingers in Šime’s curls and pulls, stretching his neck till his head leans back. His dark eyes are open so wide, like some kind of forest creature, and his long lashes are sinful, are luxury. He’s gotten his mouth ready and his lips are shining with spit, but that’s good, because Dejan does not want a neat blowjob from those lips. He wants to see how much Šime loves sucking his cock.

“C’mon, brate,” he murmurs.“Show your Deki how much you love him.”

Šime nods quickly, then kisses the tip of Dejan’s cock, and then it’s like he’s slammed his foot down on some imaginary gas pedal, because he goes right from that sweet little kiss to swallowing nearly all of Dejan’s cock down his throat at once.

“ _Fuck,_ ” Dejan groans.“ _Fucking…fuck_ , ljubavi.”He arches forward on the toilet seat, tangling his fingers in Šime’s curls.That song, “Praise You,” by whoever that is it’s by, is blasting through the walls, drowning him out.Maybe that bartender knows what they’re up to and is doing them a favor. 

He begins thrusting into Šime’s mouth, guiding him by the hair.Luckily the music’s not too loud for him to hear the little breaths and soft whines between his legs—his favorite sounds in the world.Well, some of them.Any other sound Šime makes is also good. 

_We’ve come a long, long way together,_

_Through the hard times—_

“Fuck, your mouth is _greedy_ today, Šime,” Dejan comments, his eyes squinting from how hard he’s working to not let go completely and come hard down the tight, hot throat around his cock.“Are you gonna be like that too, when I fuck you?”

_And the good._

“Because if you are…”

_I have to celebrate you, baby,_

Šime pulls his mouth away with a pop, his lips red, some hair clinging to his forehead.“You put _your_ birthday on me.You didn’t ask first.”

“Yes, I did.No, I did not.”

_I have to praise you like I should,_

Dejan crouches forward and stares into Šime’s wide eyes.“I wouldn’t have done something like that if I didn’t know you the way I do, brate.”

Šime nods slowly.He gets it. 

_I have to praise you—_

“I know that even if you came up with that idea you wouldn’t ever mention it.Right?”

Šime lunges forward and kisses him, their teeth banging together.Dejan tastes his precum on Šime’s tongue for a moment before he forgets everything—forgets that he is sitting on a toilet and Šime’s kneeling on a filthy floor, that there is music blasting because there’s a bar on the other side of them, that there is anything in his life other than this day in Trieste.“Šime, shit, okay.Stand up.Take your shirt off.Get rid of your pants so I can take care of this poor thing.”He grabs at the bulge in Šime’s joggers for a moment and Šime twitches and gasps.Dejan feels the same thing happen in his chest.“Then get ready.”

Šime stands up and whips his white t-shirt onto the floor and lets his pants fall down around his ankles.

“Wait.Why aren’t you wearing any fucking underwear?”

“Ahaaaaa!”Šime laughs.“ _Surprise!”_

“I watched you get _dressed_ this morning, brate, and I haven’t let you out of my sight since.How the—”

“Remember when I went to pee before I got the tattoo done?” Šime says. “I have pockets.”He winks and then bursts out laughing again, his nose scrunching up and his shoulders shaking.

Dejan loves him so hard he can’t stay still a moment longer.He spins Šime around so that he faces away from him.He pulls Šime’s hips toward him as Šime presses his palms up against the stall door, and crouches down for a moment so he can spread Šime’s ass and spit onto his hole.He follows that with his tongue. There are many worse things in life than prepping Šime without lube.Šime whines and rocks against his face.

“I’m not gonna spend all day here, so don’t get comfortable,” he whispers after a few minutes of this.“My dick has places to be.”

“Fucking put it there, then, brate.”

“As you wish.”Dejan stands up, rubbing the tip of his cock where his tongue had just been. “Šime the brave, Šime the strong.Likes when it hurts.”

“Shut it.”

Spit as lube is never the best solution, and Šime cries out a little as Dejan eases his cock into him, but he breathes through it and relaxes himself and doesn’t complain.Dejan examines his back while he waits.He looks at the bandage that’s covering his birthday and the halo of red skin around it. Šime’s skin, like the many renditions of Christ on his own arms, has suffered.For him.His cock twitches in the tightness of Šime’s ass.

“…’m ready, Deki.”

“Mmmm.”Dejan begins fucking into him.He feels like he’ll die from the _warmth_ and the _squeezing._ Šime’s ass is every bit as greedy as his mouth had been today. “You’re so good, brate, taking me without lube, _fuck_.”Šime nods, nudging his hips back so Dejan can bottom out in him faster.“You’re so good.”

“Yeah, it’s almost like I won a silver medal in the World Cup or something.”

“For this you should win a gold.”Dejan moves his hand away from Šime’s hip to give his cock a few tugs.Just enough to keep him close but not _too_ close. The bandage bounces away at the bottom of his vision.

Suddenly the bathroom door opens and then the door to the stall next to them slams shut. Šime laughs silently; it would sound like just a shaky breath if you didn’t know him well. Dejan stops moving and just lets his cock pulse inside Šime. Šime squeezes around him.

Their unwanted visitor is taking a piss. Dejan slaps his left hand over Šime’s mouth and reaches around again with his free hand. Šime’s cock is leaking generously now; Dejan plays with it, wetting his fingers in precum and swirling it over the velvety tip. Šime huffs against Dejan’s hand and scrapes his teeth against his palm. His breath is so _warm._ He doesn’t usually use teeth, either. Dejan glances at his back again and thinks about what it now says. _5.VII.5.VII.5.VII._

This guy is taking the longest piss in recorded history. Dejan lifts the hand that’s been covering Šime’s mouth and slides the wet fingers from his other hand in. Šime licks them off. This is all routine. But now—

Dejan thinks before he goes any further, remembering a conversation they’d had a while back.

_“If we get up to any weird shit, do you think we should have a safe word?”_

_And Šime smirked. “Nah, fuck that, I trust you, brate.”_

_“Mmmm. I like it. I like it.”_

_“We’re living on the eeeeeeeeedge.”_

Dejan slaps his hand back over those beautiful, full lips and doesn’t return his other hand to Šime’s cock. Instead, he presses two fingers just above the new tattoo, just above the red halo, slowly, but with steady pressure. Šime jolts against him. His nails dig into the stall door. Dejan feels “ _ohhh fffuuuck”_ forming against his palm.

He strains his neck forward and brushes his lips against Šime’s neck while still pressing those two fingers down hard. “Shhhh, ljubavi,” he whispers. “Control yourself.”

The guy must be texting someone from the fucking toilet.Dejan isn’t interested in waiting for him to leave.He can pull this off and do it well.Šime’s teeth scrape his palm again and Dejan pulls his hips back slowly, slowly so he can slide them forward slowly, slowly. He does this, moving his cock in and out of Šime at an agonizing pace, silently rubbing his mouth against every bit of ink on Šime’s back that he can reach. The rose, the clouds, the angels. The rays of light. He mouths _I love you Šime,_ each word a tattoo of its own, invisible on Šime’s skin to everyone but him.

He keeps his fingers where they are and keeps the pressure steady.Šime is shaking in his arms.Dejan rests his cheek against his sweaty, messy curls.This doesn’t do anything to stop the shakes.Dejan thinks that he and Šime have taken _best friendship_ and consecrated it.The level of trust and oneness in their minds and bodies is something _holy_ , and now with Dejan’s birthday on Šime’s ribs, it—

The sound of the bathroom door banging shut snaps Dejan out of it.Their visitor is gone.

“God, that t-took forever,” Šime gasps, his voice sounding like it’s about to break.

Dejan kisses his head.“Am I hurting you?” And Šime is nodding his head _yes yes yes_ but he rocks back on Dejan’s cock and clenches around him. 

“Good, very good, brate,” Dejan pants.Now that they’re alone again he can really go at it.He takes his hand offŠime’s mouth and moves it back to his waist, slamming their bodies together, giving in to how good it feels.He presses his fingers just a little deeper into the red skin.He’d once told Ox and Mo that there are probably a million ways to say _fuck_ in Crotian, and from the sound of it, half a million of those ways are coming out of Šime’s mouth now.He must be in so much pain, Dejan thinks, but this is the same man who got them a silver in the World Cup with a knee busted to shreds. _Šime the brave, Šime the strong, likes when it hu—_

“Šime. You wouldn’t let anyone else do this to you, would you?”

Šime shakes his head violently. His beautiful, luscious ass jerks against Dejan as Dejan drags his finger in a circle around his perfectly-inked birthday. 

“Tell me, brate moj, tell me….who do you belong to?”

His voice is shattered by pleasure, straining with desperation. But he means every word of every question. _Please tell me it’s me please say it’s me,_ he thinks, even after this long. Even with his cock deep inside Šime, joining them in a way more sacred than marriage. Dejan is strong, of course, just like Šime, and he’s brave and he’s lived through a lot. Šime leaving him is one of his only fears. If he thinks deeply about it, it might be his worst fear.

Šime is panting too hard to answer right away. “You—brate, brate, _please Deki,_ it’s you, but can you touch me—”

“Shhhh, ljubavi, shhhh.”Dejan looks around to Šime’s front.His cock is an angry, swollen red. Dejan wants it, he wants it in his fist so fucking badly, but with one arm now wrapped around Šime’s chest to keep him in position, and his other hand busy _making it hurt_ , he has no choice but to let it do its own thing. 

Dejan helps Šime out, shifting a bit so he can change his angle to the one he knows will get this done fast.

With just a few more thrusts against the right spot inside him Šime finally comes, calling out “Deki, my Deki, _my_ Deki…”The music pulses through the wall and Dejan lets go of Šime’s skin, moving his hand so he can cup Šime’s cock to keep some of the mess contained.He’s on the edge, he thinks as Šime twitches against him and moans.He can’t last any longer.He has a prophetic vision of his come staining the back of Šime’s black joggers as they walk back through the streets of Trieste, and this is not something he wants.He pulls out of Šime, which he hates to do, but he makes himself.They stumble backwards to the toilet seat and the filthy tiles just in time.Dejan wraps his sticky hand around his cock, which throbs painfully in his fist as he jerks himself hard, and then he comes on Šime’s lips, his eyes shutting and his head falling back as he moans over the loud music coming through the wall.Dejan makes sure he has good sex, but he has never come this hard before, not with anyone, not even with Šime.

He lets go of his cock when he’s done and feels his whole body deflate.His eyes stay closed for a moment.His shirt is soaked; the cool wall feels good against it.

Šime lets out a quiet sigh.He’s rested his head on Dejan’s leg, and Dejan’s heart swells.He grabs some toilet paper and hands it to Šime to wipe off his face, then reaches for his sweaty hands and squeezes. He can feel someone’s pulse pounding. He can’t even tell which one of them it belongs to.

“Ljubavi...you alright?” he asks.Šime’s breath is hot on Dejan’s bare thigh. His cheek is sticky. 

“I hope I didn’t hurt you...” Dejan continues. Suddenly he is worried.He hates feeling like he’s done harm when he hasn’t meant to. It pounds in his chest and aches in his lungs. 

“But weren’t you trying to?” Šime’s voice is muffled. 

“Well...yes. But not in a bad way. I—I just wanted to give you what you wanted.” Did he go too far? “Uh, what I thought you wanted. I—”

Šime lifts his head and stares hard at Dejan. His eyes are red. There’s a tiny drop of blood on his lower lip. His hair looks like a storm has blown through it. 

And he grins. 

“And you _did._ ” 

*

“So, your birthday’s on me permanently, huh?”

When they’d finally made it back to the hotel they’d collapsed right into bed even though it’s still afternoon and bright and sunny outside. They’re both drained.Dejan’s read about the idea _of aftercare_ before, and he’s always thought of it as a thing for weak people.Which he and Šime are _not._ But maybe they both need it today. 

“Mmmm. I guess it is.” He traces a shaky finger down Šime’s bare stomach, following the path of his muscles. _Mine_ , he mouths above Šime’s head so he can’t see. _Mine. Please._

“So...that means...these things...These things we do together...”

Dejan waits impatiently.No, he’ll be honest with himself.He’s waiting nervously. 

“We’re just going to have to keep doing them forever, right, brate?” 

Dejan lets go of the breath he’s been holding and as he does, he feels those wings again, stretching out from his shoulder blades and shaking themselves out and giving him an incredible lightness. He could float away right now with Šime in his arms. They could float away together. 

“Yes. I guess we will.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was a marathon, so kudos and comments would make my day! :) ;)
> 
> Talk to me on [insta](https://www.instagram.com/griziwave) or [tumblr](http://theboywiththedejantattoo.tumblr.com)!


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